


i need a man who's got blood on his hands (and the truth on his face)

by BlackVultures



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coda, Episode 3.08, Episode Related, Episode Tag, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVultures/pseuds/BlackVultures
Summary: “Sorry,” Mac said again, and this time it was lower, betraying his exhaustion. “I just… I wanted to hear—” he cut himself off, pausing for a second before letting out a sigh. “I wanted to talk to you, really talk, but I couldn’t do it in front of everybody else.”“Hey, hey, none of that.” Jack tried his best at reassurance, the hand not holding the phone curling into a loose fist on his knee. He would’ve given almost anything to be in front of Mac right now instead of on a plane. “You know I’ve always got your back, even when I’m not around. Now, how about you tell me what went down in Paris?”(A slashed-up tag/continuation of Episode 3.08. Spoilers for that ep.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh... so I know the Pole Dancing Fic From Hell hasn't been updated yet, but this idea came to me after watching last night's episode and I couldn't focus on anything else until I wrote it? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyway, this one will ONLY BE TWO CHAPTERS I PROMISE, and the rating may change depending on what these lovable idiots decide to get up to in the next installment. Spoilers abound for 3.08 if you haven't watched it yet!
> 
> Title is from "Dark Nights" by Dorothy. They're a seriously underrated band - check 'em out!

Jack was about to pass out for a solid eleven hours hours on a chartered flight from Rio de Janeiro to Los Angeles when his cell phone rang from its place in his jacket pocket, tinny and insistent. Since he was in a line of work where an unanswered phone call could mean life or death, he muttered a couple cuss words to himself and retrieved the screaming device, Riley written at the top of the caller ID screen.

He answered before the next ring started: “Riles? Everything okay?”

“Sorry, man,” Mac’s voice said, some of its usual honey-smoothness worn at the edges by the stress of his day; Jack had heard about the team’s tussle with The Ghost when he called earlier. To say he’d regretted not being there was an understatement. “Everything’s fine. My phone got busted when the tunnel collapsed, so Riley let me use one of hers.”

A part of Jack wondered why Riley had multiple phones, but another part of him was smart enough not to ask. Instead his brain focused in on that strained part of Mac’s voice, some deep-seated instinct in him (one he was always careful never to look at head-on, lest he find out what it meant) wanting to fix what was wrong without knowing the cause. “Okay, nice exposition—doesn’t tell me why you called, though.”

Mac huffed a laugh through his nose, the barely-there sound of denim shifting on wood suggesting he was still out by the fire pit. The lack of chatter in the background said he was alone, which depending on how bad the day had actually been wasn’t good. Bozer and Charlie had done most of the talking, and Jack got the sense they’d either glossed over or hadn’t known about a few things.

“Sorry,” Mac said again, and this time it was lower, betraying his exhaustion. “I just… I wanted to hear—” he cut himself off, pausing for a second before letting out a sigh. “I wanted to talk to you, _really_ talk, but I couldn’t do it in front of everybody else.”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Jack tried his best at reassurance, the hand not holding the phone curling into a loose fist on his knee. He would’ve given almost anything to be in front of Mac right now instead of on a plane. “You know I’ve always got your back, even when I’m not around. Now, how about you tell me what went down in Paris?”

Mac did, starting with halting, half-stuttered sentences that made Jack simultaneously want to hug the kid until he couldn’t breathe and do everything in his power to find Eileen Brennan and dump her in a CIA black site. Mac’s voice wavered less as he got through the parts about the tunnel collapse, The Ghost’s death, and disarming the seemingly impossible bomb with Riley and Bozer’s help, but after that he trailed off, the sudden silence buzzing in Jack’s ear like a swarm of mayflies.

“All of that I can put behind me, as screwed up as it sounds,” Mac said. He swallowed audibly. “But before he died—before Eileen killed him—The Ghost told me something. Two somethings, actually, that I can’t get over.”

“So tell me, and we’ll figure it out,” Jack said. He physically braced himself in the cushy airplane seat, not sure what he was about to hear but knowing damn well that he was going to hate it. “That’s what we do, right? We figure shit out together?” He paused. “Well, you do most of the figuring—I just stand around and look pretty.”

That startled a laugh out of Mac—and was it Jack’s imagination, or did it sound a little bitter? Which… wouldn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, but neither did thinking your straight male partner (who was the same age as the woman you thought of as a daughter) was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Jack didn’t let himself indulge those thoughts often, but hearing Mac laugh after his worst day since Jill died was like seeing the sun after days of rain—fuck it, Jack got a little sappy. As long as he didn’t let it slip out into the world and fuck up their partnership, it was harmless.

Oops, Mac was talking again. “You do a lot more than look pretty,” he said, and although Jack was like ninety-nine percent sure he was just continuing the joke, it still made something fuzzy and warm in his chest do backflips. That stopped when Mac’s tone went somber once more, his next words delivered like the sermon at funeral: “The bomb that killed Pena… The Ghost made it for me. I was supposed to die that day.”

The recycled air around Jack seemed to grow cold as he imagined in brief flashes what his world would look like without Angus MacGyver in it.

He viscerally, deep-in-his-bones hated that idea.

“And I know what you’re gonna say,” Mac continued, and _oh no, you don’t_ , Jack thought, but he held his tongue. “I told Matty, and she told me what I already knew—that Pena would’ve given up his life for mine, that there was no way I could’ve known, just like The Ghost didn’t know the bomb robot would break down. But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t make me feel any better, you know?”

Jack blew out a harsh breath. “Look, Mac, I didn’t know Pena, but if he was half the man you say he was, and if you had half the effect on him that you do on me and the team, then there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t have gone in that building. He believed in what you guys were doing and he believed in you, just like I do.” _Not_ quite _like you do_ , a snide voice in Jack’s head remarked, but he squashed it under a mental boot-heel. “And no matter what that asshole told you, that hasn’t changed. It won’t.”

Mac was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Jack wondered if the call had been dropped. “He also told me he made another bomb, and hid it somewhere,” came as a whisper over the line, the whisper of someone who was much more shaken up than they were willing to admit. “Said he made it just for me. That I was special.”

“You _are_ special,” Jack replied. He willed his fingers to loosen their grip on his phone so he didn’t break it. “Not in the fucked-up way The Ghost meant it, or Murdoc, or any of the other dicks we’ve put away. You’re good at defusing bombs and all that science mumbo-jumbo, sure, but that’s not the only thing you are, Mac.” _Gorgeous, funny, kind, selfless_ , were all adjectives that came to Jack’s mind, but he choked them back, sure they wouldn’t be wanted. “And if The Ghost did make another bomb for you, we’ll find it and you’ll beat him again.”

Mac chuckled, and if it sounded a little wet, Jack ignored it. “Easy as that, huh?”

“Easy as that,” Jack agreed. He swiped the back of his free hand over his eyes, grateful he was the only one on the plane except the pilot. “Now, my internal clock might be screwed up thanks to time zones and lack of sleep, but I’m pretty sure you should be heading to bed.”

“I know, and I will,” Mac said. He paused, and this time the silence felt like a weight pressing down on Jack’s shoulders. “I… just needed to hear your voice again first.” Another hesitation. “When I was down there, before Riley and Bozer showed up… I had no plan. No way to stop the bomb. And as selfish as it sounds, I… I wished…”

Jack’s mouth was dry, and when he parted his lips his question came out as a croak: “You what, Mac?”

Mac laughed, but it was a punched-out, painful sound, almost like a sob. “I wished I could see you, one last time.”

Had the plane lost altitude, or was Jack’s heart just bursting out of his chest on its own? Rubbing a hand over his shadowed jaw, Jack debated how to respond to that statement, because as much as he couldn’t believe it, there was nothing platonic about what Mac had just said—and as much as he pretended to be, even Jack wasn’t dense enough to believe otherwise.

Before he could respond, however, Mac coughed awkwardly, and Jack could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, one of his many nervous ticks when he wasn’t in the field. “Look, Jack, I shouldn’t have—just, can we pretend I didn’t say that? I’ll, uh, talk to you when you get back. Or at work. Bye.”

The _click_ of Mac hanging up echoed in Jack’s ears, and he swore a blue streak as he immediately tried to call Mac back, only to have it go straight to voicemail.

Well, so much for that nap.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments on the first chapter! Please note the rating/tags have changed to accommodate the sex in this chapter! As always, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! (Thank you to [lavendersblues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_lovebird/pseuds/lavendersblues) for the cheer-leading/beta work! Her stuff's so good guys, check it out!)

The following morning found Mac out on his back deck again after a restless night that had consisted mostly of tossing and turning, not sleep. When he had lost consciousness a few times, it was only to be woken up by warped memories of the previous day, enough to make him sweat and shake and debate braining himself on his headboard.

He squinted against the orange-red glare of the rising sun, coffee mug held loosely in one hand. Fairly certain the only person who’d see him today was Bozer (whenever he decided to crawl out of bed), Mac wasn’t concerned with fashion. A giant old Army t-shirt that hung almost to his knees—he was pretty sure it had belonged to Jack at one point, but he had zero idea why it was so big—was all he wore, and he curled his bare toes against the early chill. It wasn’t uncommon for them to share clothes… which was just another item to add to the list of things he’d mourn when Jack undoubtedly cut him off.

He rubbed at his tired eyes, dipped his head to take a sip of coffee, and was met with the combined aromas of Jack’s detergent and his own body odor—after their disastrous conversation last night, Mac hadn’t bothered to shower. There was a part of him that still couldn’t believe he’d actually admitted his feelings to Jack, but the number of missed calls and unopened texts on the phone he’d borrowed from Riley were a stark reminder of the truth. He was in love with Jack—had been since Jack had willingly traded going back to his beloved Texas for more time in the Sandbox with a scrawny EOD technician.

And now Jack knew. The fact that he had obviously been trying to get ahold of Mac should’ve been reassuring, but it wasn’t; Jack was the kind of guy who liked to deal with things head-on, and Mac had no doubt that his partner had every intention of letting him down gently. If that happened, Mac was pretty sure he’d shatter into a million tiny pieces, and there would be no chewing gum or paper clips that could fix him.

Still wound up from the day before, Mac jumped about a mile in the air when he heard Jack’s voice from behind him: “Is that my shirt?”

Hanging his head and running a hand through his (kind of greasy, if he was being honest) hair, Mac managed to force out a rattled chuckle at his own jumpiness. “Jesus _Christ_ , Jack—I thought I told you no Delta Forcing through my house.” Something occurred to him, and he looked up at his partner despite being afraid of what he would see. “Wait, did you come here straight from the airport?”

“Sure did,” Jack said, and while he didn’t appear as tense as Mac had expected, he didn’t look relaxed, either. If anything, he seemed just as tired as Mac felt, and the emotions in his eyes were impossible to read. “Scoot over, will you? We gotta talk.”

Mac licked his lips, deliberately shifting his gaze to the burned-out remains of last night’s fire. The hand that wasn’t white-knuckling the coffee mug twitched against his bare leg, which was now covered in goosebumps. _Horripilation_ , his brain corrected automatically, and he wanted to scoff at his own tendencies, ever-present even in the worst situations. “Like I said on the phone, man, you don’t have to—”

Jack’s hand covered his own, warm and rough with callouses. Mac was viscerally reminded of every time those hands had pulled him out of danger, patched up his wounds, or offered comfort. This situation was both similar to all of those and completely different, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that information. Instead he froze, muscles in his forearm twitching involuntarily, and waited for the inevitable rejection in whatever form it took: _it’s not you, it’s me_ , or _you know_ _I’m straight_ , or _what would a guy like me want with a nerdy freak like you_? He’d heard them all before, and as much as he knew Jack cared for him, there was _no way_ —

“So I realize subtle ain’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but… you really didn’t know, huh?” Jack’s voice, which was more familiar to Mac than his own, had dipped from forced geniality to cautiously optimistic, which… didn’t make sense.

Mac summoned the courage to turn his head and look at Jack again. Something that was as raw and vulnerable as Mac felt had cracked open on his partner’s face, and Mac glanced down at Jack’s hand loosely grasping his own, blue eyes wide with confusion. “Didn’t know what?”

Jack squeezed his fingers with enough pressure to make a point. “That since I met you, every time I’ve thought my luck was finally going to run out, you were the last thing I wanted to see. Guess I’m a selfish bastard like that.”

For a moment, Mac’s mind went completely blank. There was no way he’d heard that right. Maybe standing next to explosions and gunshots for most of his adult life had taken a toll on his hearing.

But Jack’s other hand—the one with the scars on the first two fingers from where he’d pried a bear trap off Mac’s ankle somewhere in Canada—was cradling the side of Mac’s face, incredibly gentle, and Jack was muttering “Feel free to hit me if I’m reading this wrong,” and he leaned in for a feather-light kiss.

Mac’s eyes slammed shut automatically and sucked in an involuntary breath, which had the unintended consequence of pulling Jack’s lower lip between both of Mac’s. He felt a tremor go through Jack’s body thanks to their close proximity; tentatively, Mac tilted his head into the hand on his jaw, returning the kiss and savoring the burn of Jack’s stubble against his chin.

When he pulled back, Mac was grinning so hard it hurt. “I’m not gonna hit you,” he said, voice gone hoarse thanks to a combination of exhaustion and elation.

“Oh thank God,” Jack replied, releasing Mac’s hand in favor of grasping his face with both hands and tugging him back in for another kiss.

This one was less _testing the waters_ and more _full-on skinny dipping_. Mac made an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat when Jack’s tongue grazed the seam of his lips, and it was a simple, natural thing to deepen the kiss, Mac’s hands creeping up to fist themselves in the front of Jack’s shirt. That gave him the leverage to swing a leg over Jack and settle himself in his partner’s lap, which earned him a groan and provided a much more comfortable angle for making out.

One of Jack’s hands slid up to cradle the back of Mac’s head, fingers threading through golden hair, while the other one wandered down his neck and shoulder before settling on his waist. Mac leaned forward, chasing Jack’s tongue when it retreated temporarily from his mouth, and the motion caused the t-shirt he was wearing—you know, with _nothing else_ —to ride up his hips, past the loose grip of Jack’s hand.

They both paused, Jack pulling away to look Mac in the face, pupils blown so wide his brown eyes were almost black. “You’re… _just_ wearing that damn t-shirt?”

Mac swallowed hard, shivering even though he was no longer cold. He saw Jack’s gaze trace the movement of his throat and nodded, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Uh… maybe?”

Despite the fact that they were both quite obviously half-hard—Mac was doing his best to not think about the denim-covered bulge pressed against his thigh that was definitely _not_ a gun—Jack snorted at Mac’s dorky attempt at playing coy. “Is this the part where I say something about testing a hypothesis?”

Mac laughed, not from a place of sadness this time, curling his fingers around Jack’s biceps. “I think that’s my line.” His happy expression dimmed at the edges, thumb toying nervously with the sleeve of Jack’s t-shirt. “You sure about this?”

Jack smiled, a soft, affectionate thing that was enough to make Mac’s eyes burn. He used the hand he had in Mac’s hair to tuck the unruly mess behind his ear. “More sure than I’ve been about anything except following you, darlin’.”

Not wanting to be that guy that cries before he reaches third base, Mac dove back in for another kiss, closer to a clash of lips and teeth than anything with finesse. A surprised moan rattled in his chest when Jack slipped both his hands under either of Mac’s thighs and _lifted_ , standing up and supporting Mac’s weight with the kind of easy strength that made Mac’s pulse hammer harder in the best possible way.

They made their way toward Mac’s bedroom with only a couple of stumbled steps and unexpected meetings with walls, Mac cackling (quietly, so as to not wake Bozer) when Jack stubbed his toe on a doorjamb. That semi-maniacal laugh tapered into a squeak when Jack nipped at the birthmark on the side of Mac’s neck in retaliation, before dropping him on his mattress.

Jack kicked off his boots and clambered on top of Mac, eyes hungry, but the edges of his face soft in a way few people got to see. “Still good?”

Mac made a noise of affirmation and leaned up to kiss his partner again, just because he could. He tugged at the hem of Jack’s shirt, both of them holding back sounds when the motion of Jack pulling his shirt off rubbed them together in all the right places. Mac had no idea what he looked like—sweaty and gross, probably—but whatever Jack saw in his expression once he had his shirt off prompted him to latch their lips together again, one of those big, traitorous hands finding its way under Mac’s thigh yet again, teasing in all the right places.

Jack’s mouth trailed from Mac’s lips to his jaw to his neck, lighting a fiery trail in their wake. Mac couldn’t help but arch into the sensation, gasping for air even as he curled the leg Jack was holding around his partner’s waist. “Jack—wait.”

Jack froze instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, first of all,” Mac said, staring at the ceiling and letting out a breathy chuckle, “if you don’t ease up this is going to be over ridiculously fast.” His fingers—always moving, always doing something even at a time like this—trailed from Jack’s shoulder blades to the waistband of his jeans and back again, cataloging every dip and scar they found. “Second, what… what are we _doing_ , exactly?”

Jack rested his forehead against Mac’s collarbone and laughed a little. “Goddamn, Mac, don’t scare me like that. Thought you came to your senses for a minute there.”

Mac snorted. “Pretty sure we’re only allowed one come to Jesus moment per morning.” He ran a hand up to cup the back of Jack’s neck, pads of his fingers exploring the stubbly hair on the back of his partner’s head and marveling at how easy this all felt. “Now do I have to spell it out for you, or do you get what I’m saying?”

“Nah, I get it,” Jack responded, lifting his face to smack a kiss in the general area of Mac’s chin. “And I’m game for whatever, baby. What do you want?”

Mac flailed an arm sideways, pulling open his bedside drawer and retrieving a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube. “You, in me, about twenty minutes ago.”

Jack let out an honest-to-God growl and kissed Mac hard, freeing his hand from its new home under Mac’s ass so he could shove down his jeans and boxers, socks joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor a moment later. Feeling emboldened, Mac licked his palm and wrapped his hand around Jack’s erection, grinning when his partner jolted like he’d been electrocuted and swore out loud.

“You’re a little shit,” Jack said, remarkably cogent despite his arousal, chuckling when Mac’s grin only grew wider.

Grabbing the lube, he wriggled out of Mac’s grasp, moving down on the bed until he was at eye-level with Mac’s hard cock. Mac had to slap a hand over his own mouth to keep in a shout when Jack went down on him without preamble, licking Mac up an down like he was a lollipop before taking him in his mouth. Mac was so distracted by the blowjob that he barely noticed when a lube-coated finger teased his entrance and slipped inside; it was soon joined by a second finger, which rubbed teasing circles over his prostate while Jack tongued at the head of Mac’s cock.

Mac lifted his hand off his mouth briefly. “Jack,” he said, the word rough with need. “If we don’t move this along, you’ll be getting yourself off in the shower while I try to explain why I was screaming like I was being murdered to Bozer.”

Jack pulled off Mac’s cock and fixed him with a disbelieving look. “Dude, please don’t bring Bozer up when we’re about to do it. I love him to pieces, but talk about a boner-killer.” Still, he obliged Mac’s wishes, rubbing his fingers along Mac’s inner walls one last time before pulling out and reaching for the condoms. He raised an eyebrow when he got a look at the sparkly purple foil wrappers. “Do I wanna know where you got these?”

“… probably not?” Mac guessed. As soon as Jack had the condom on and leaned back in his space, Mac had his arms wrapped around his partner’s neck, one leg hooked over his hip. “Let’s just say they’re compensation for a weird hookup on Mardi Gras.” He sucked in a breath as Jack lined himself up, the head of his cock catching on Mac’s rim before slipping inside. “Besides, weren’t you complaining about exposition last night?”

“Learned that big word just for you, darlin’,” Jack teased, but Mac could feel the tension in his body and knew he was holding himself back for Mac’s sake. “You ready?”

Mac wriggled his hips experimentally, stars lighting up behind his eyes when the movement ground Jack’s cock against his prostate. He grinned again, pulling Jack down for a long-overdue kiss. “Think so. Go for it.”

That was all the encouragement Jack needed. Planting a hand on either side of Mac’s shoulders, he gave a couple slow, gentle thrusts before really going for it, muscles coiling and sweat dripping off both of them as Jack rammed home again and again. Mac, for his part, gave as good as he got, making a point of leaving hickeys and bite marks on every piece of exposed skin he could reach on Jack’s neck and shoulders. Eventually, though, he had to give up his quest of mapping out his partner’s upper body in favor of holding on for the ride, making tiny breathless sounds each time his prostate was struck.

Mac could feel his orgasm building, the tension in his lower belly almost unbearable. “Jack, I’m close.”

“Me too,” Jack panted. “Here, lemme—”

He dropped his weight on one elbow, sliding that arm underneath Mac’s back to press them closer, while his free hand wrapped around Mac’s leaking cock. That one touch was all it took for Mac’s orgasm to roar out of him like an out of control train, his entire body coiling like a spring before going slack as come stained his abs and chest. He heard himself scream a little, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Mac’s internal muscles clenching set Jack off, leading him to thrust hard a few more times before reaching his own climax.

Jack collapsed on top of Mac, and for a second, neither of them moved except to breathe harshly.

A loud thump, like somebody falling out of bed, echoed through the house. A few seconds later, Bozer burst through the door to Mac’s room, baseball bat held in a ready position. “Mac, are you—? Oh God, you’re— _Jack_?!” He swung the bat up to shield his eyes and backed slowly out of the room, shutting the door on his way. “You are _never_ living this down!”

Mac and Jack traded a glance, and then they both started chuckling, which evolved into full-on belly-laughing in short order. When Jack got control of himself, it was to say, “Guess you were right about him holding a grudge.”

Mac punched Jack in the arm, and for the first time in recent memory, he felt like maybe everything would be okay. “Shut up. See if you ever get laid again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked this fic? Well, I wrote a book! Search for "Stitches Samantha Simard" on Amazon (Kindle and paperback) or Barnes & Noble (paperback or hardcover) and pick up a copy of my debut LGBT mystery novel! My Tumblr is thesammykinz.tumblr.com if you want to keep up with me! :)


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